


A Few of Our Favourite Things

by cosmotronic



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Blindfolds, F/F, Light Dom/sub, Loving Sex, Restraints, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Smut, Spanking, Strap-Ons, Subby Cupcake Holtz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-06 07:44:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10329569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmotronic/pseuds/cosmotronic
Summary: Moments that redefine intimacy.





	1. Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit-with-an-E, guys.
> 
> There is some heavier kink in this piece, particularly in the Holtz POV part. If you don't like the idea of subby Holtz, just stop after the first section and you'll be unsullied ;)
> 
> It's all loving and consensual bedroom fun, though. That is important to me.
> 
> There will be a few chapters... nothing but smut... I just needed to get it out of my system. Okey-dokey, let's go.

 

One of Erin's favourite things is lying on her back.

Holtz is on top, fucking her slowly – excruciatingly slowly – with a strap-on.

Erin has one foot flat on the bed, knee bent to give some stability as her other leg hooks around Holtz’s thigh, drawing her in, locking Holtz into her cage.

Her arms curl around Holtz’s naked back, enjoying the curve of her spine, the flex and release of muscles as her lover moves in the small space between them. She runs her hands up and down the sweat-sheened skin, presenting the lightest scrape of nails across narrow shoulders.

She grabs those shoulders tight as Holtz shifts her position, incrementally, stretching her body to bring their faces closer. The motion brings their upper bodies flush and Erin sighs and arches into the contact, gripping tighter, nails cutting into flesh as she pulls Holtz close.

Holtz isn’t heavy but Erin softens beneath the warm weight pressing into her, pressing her down into the bed, trapping her with hips and chest fitted tight against hers.

It’s so _sensual_ and she feels herself getting wetter around the toy, arousal thrumming through her. Her head tips back as she moans quietly into the air, lust-charged and thick.

And it's strange because she's been here before. She should feel trapped, breathless. Should want to push at her lover until her chest can expand in the gap between them. Should want to _shove_ at her lover, roll them over and clutch for control and sink down upon them, the smallest sliver of power they will allow her.

But that was then and this is now.

Holtz does not allow her power because it is not hers to give.

With them power is not something to be owned, not something to be wielded or doled out like charity. They play with it sometimes, rough games and slow games and wild games and careful games and games with _rules_ , sometimes.

And sometimes they just flow, the power shifting between them like forces found in nature. Their dynamics are an energised fluid and power is malleable in their hands and words are truth and _no_ means _no_ and _yes_ means _go_ and each time they are together Erin finds herself redefining intimacy.

Before, she could have been inches away from a lover or pressed so close that not a molecule of air exists between them and it might as well have been a thousand miles for all the connection she felt.

But when Erin catches Holtz's eye from across the room, when she touches Holtz's hands, when she lays them on her body, she is captured and they are bound. The pull they feel is not simple attraction, not mere charge and electricity, it is gravity.

And when she lies here beneath Holtz, with all of Holtz crushing down on her and resonating out to fill the spaces in her atoms, Erin knows she could stay in this microcosm forever.

Holtz starts pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses against the line of her jaw. Insistent kisses. It's a hint; Holtz is shorter than she and can't quite reach Erin’s lips when her head is tilted back on the pillow like it is, so after a moment Erin rolls her face back down.

Straight into the deepest blue sea, infinity washing over her. Holtz is looking up at her with lust and awe and Erin doesn't blink, stares deep into that shifting cobalt abyss and it’s too much, too much and she almost falls apart before the adoration she sees in Holtz’s expression. Her lip trembles and her heart thumps harder and her core flutters.

“Oh _god_.”

“Jillian will do.”

It's a joke but it's whispered with the intensity of _I love you_ and Erin cracks. Feels the tears spring in the corners of her eyes because there's no way she deserves this reverence, this worship.

Holtz is so close, dipping her face to kiss the wet.

“Hey, hey. I'm here. Did I hurt you?”

Erin shakes her head _no_ in a tiny motion, lets Holtz read the conviction in a small smile and a steady gaze. She is determined to hold herself in the inches between them and not to break completely because although her tears are the sweet wine of joy rather than the salt of sorrow, having a crying fit during sex isn't exactly on Erin's bucket list.

She is saved when Holtz breaks first, dropping her head to Erin’s neck, just below her chin. Licking and nibbling at the tender skin and murmuring, moaning into the hollow of her throat.

“Oh fuck, I love you. Erin. So much.”

Erin wants to say _I know_ and _I love you too_ and _Jillian_ but she can't because now she's biting her lip.

It’s still slow and they aren’t chasing the sensations, but the fullness and the stretch, the slow drag and rub are building her up and she's biting her lip to stop herself from moaning louder than the moment.

She rocks her hips up into Holtz a little more firmly and Holtz meets her. Erin feels Holtz’s heart hammering hard against her own chest, feels the stammer between two cages of flesh and bone. Hears the small moans turn to shuddering groans, the tiny grunts become hot exhalations blasted across her neck. The amplified closeness and the friction are working for Holtz too, her motions a little more urgent now.

Erin glimpses the brilliant, white hot flame catching in the near distance.

“Holtz...”

And then they start to chase it.

Holtz rocks forward onto her elbows, arching and bowing her back to drive her hips harder. Erin drops her hands to where the harness sits low on Holtz’s hips, squeezes, then slides lower to cup her lover’s behind. Pulls Holtz closer on each thrust, feeling the cock reach a tiny bit deeper, the angle perfect, and Erin senses herself about to tip.

“Oh god, Holtz. Oh, right _there_.”

Holtz’s motions stutter a little when Erin starts to shudder, she can feel herself twitching and pulsing and clenching down around the toy and Holtz loses her rhythm and just presses herself deep and grinds.

“Oh fuck Erin. I'm gonna. I'm gonna.”

“I'm close, baby, just… uh… let go.”

“With me –”

Its half a plea, half a question rising on the end before Erin smashes their lips together. Erin can taste Holtz’s groan, agonised pleasure sobbing from her, convulsing from the deepest part of her to bubble from her lips and into Erin.

And Erin comes along with her, blissful and soaring and unending, and it’s like the stars are being born all about them while they float amidst creation.

 

* * *

 

 “I feel... I look ridiculous.”

“You look super sexy, Erin.”

 

* * *

 

Holtz likes it on her knees.

Erin’s behind her, pounding into her – hard and fast and dirty – with a strap-on.

Holtz's senses are scorched, all the sights and sounds and smells drugging her into a haze of lust and all the touches on her skin scratching her synapses and jolting her back. Her focus flits from one point on her body to the next as she rides the high of the sensations.

She likes the bite of Erin’s fingers, digging deep and bruising over her hip bones. It will leave a mark but she doesn't care, because later Erin will stroke the patterns on her skin and kiss the hurts better.

She likes the rough friction, the texture of the toy as it drags across her sensitive flesh, the dull ache as the thickness stretches her inside. She’ll be sore tomorrow but it's worth it, worth the twinge when she walks and worth the gasp when she sits down too hard, worth it for the reminder.

She wants Erin to claim her, take her, tell her there's no other. Wants to feel Erin on every inch of her, inside every molecule of her body, soul, heart, mind, wants to still feel it tomorrow and forever.

Wants to cry out at the feel of Erin's teeth in her neck, marking her for all the world.

Later. One sensation at a time.

The pounding in her core is relentless and she's building fast. She always does when it's like this, Erin dancing on the very edge of control, buttoned-up self stripped bare.

It's base and raw and primal and dominant and all those things.

But it's okay. It's what she wanted when she threw herself down on hands and knees before Erin and begged for it. Holtz offers herself like a bounty but always Erin asks before she takes.

And that had nearly broken the little Holtz inside, the first time, because she’d realised that Erin was the only one who’d ever asked.

Not just in the bedroom. Everywhere. Forever.

So many people have just taken and Holtz doesn't understand how she has not been frittered away or how the universe keeps on generating more of her, too much to fill her body and it spills out and people see it and they take.

Holtz doesn't always get it, thinks she'll never understand the trigger behind the action when someone takes, the motive behind the word when someone tells her what they want her to be.

People have always wanted her to be so many things. Jillian, normal, a child, _grow up_ , an adult, _calm down_ , a friend, more, straight, less, better, stronger, safer, like them, not her.

A lover, a giver. And Holtz learns to love to give.

She'd give them what they want; trust and desire all mixed up and muddy. She'd give and give and give and they would always take and she'd gain a reputation for it, they'd call her generous, fun, no strings, no names, a body, an experiment, meaningless, nothing, _get out_.

But she never ever thought she could give _this_. Until Erin.

Erin wants her to be Holtz, Holtzmann, baby, sweetheart, beautiful, brilliant, her, hers, sometimes Jillian. None of the other things matter.

For the first time Holtz can ask a lover for what she _needs_ and Erin will nod _yes_ and together they are beautiful, a riot of colours added to and taken away. And through it all Erin teaches her what trust truly means and how desire can be a palette from which to pick and choose and blend. And Holtz gets to pick and choose who gives and who takes and right now Erin is taking and Holtz loves it.

She loves the sloppy irregular thrusts and the tiny bite of too much and the wet, obscene sounds of their coupling; Erin’s hips smacking against her ass, the slap and slide of skin on slick.

Holtz makes plenty of noises of her own. She’s always been loud, too loud, chaotic, unacceptable.

But Erin likes her chaos, won’t say it often but she does. Erin likes her noises, blushes and tells Holtz how she loves it when they gets loud in bed, which is good because Holtz is never going to be quiet, not when Erin’s fucking her into next week. Holtz moans and screams and makes funny hiccuping noises when the toy hits her just right. Shouts Erin’s name. Pleads for more. Begs for it.

“Oh god- Er, Er, Er. Hng. Fuck f-fuckmeharder _don't stop_.”

Holtz knows Erin enjoys the dirty talk as much as she does when they are like this, knows Erin can't help but respond.

“You, uh, you like that, baby?”

She _loves_ it and she loves Erin’s words and she loves Erin’s noises, too, panting grunts and strained, breathless _fucks_. She knows if she tosses her head to look over her shoulder that Erin’s face and torso will be flushed and red and sweaty and beautiful, hot, perfect.

Holtz bends onto her elbows, slams her hips back into the thrusts. Desperate.

“Deeper, Erin. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

Erin lets out a breath, hard, an explosive huff and moves one hand suddenly up to Holtz’s shoulder, grabbing tight and arching forward over her body. The angle changes acutely and Holtz cries out as the head of the toy drives hard and fast over a sensitive spot.

Oh, Erin’s _good_ at this.

“Oh fuck Erin. Do me.”

She’s trembling now, legs and arms threatening to give out. Wailing without shame, Erin’s low growls urging her on.

“That's it baby. Come on. Come for me.”

The encouragements swirl in her ear like delicious treacle in her tummy and she almost comes on command.

But it’s the hand curling in her loose hair that does it, in the end, Erin’s fingers tangling and tugging. Not enough to hurt, but her head yanks back and her spine curves into the pull and her hips bear back and down as Erin drives forward one last time.

“ _Now_.”

Erin takes and rips her pleasure from her.

And Holtz comes, quick and sharp and hard, and it's like a sun gone critical between her legs and behind her eyes, a supernova in a fragile minute.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh sweet lord, look at the title I used for my kinky porn. Sorry Julie. I'm going to _burn_ for this.
> 
> Also I wrote _tummy_ in my smut. Lol.


	2. Re

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kink ahoy!
> 
> (In the second part if it’s not your thing and you wanna skip)
> 
> Just some light recreational spanking *whistles innocently* All in the name of good fun, I assure you ;)

 

One of Erin's favourite things is lying on her front.

She's lying naked and Holtz is straddling her hips. Palms and fingers on her back, pressing the pads of her thumbs deep into the knots and rocks of Erin's shoulders.

There’s nothing Erin likes more than Holtz's hands on her after a long, stressful day.

Holtz must have sensed the strain holding Erin taut, felt the headache throbbing before she even does. Erin sees Holtz pull herself back into a single steady point of light, energy spooled in and run out gently through a filter and Erin is grateful.

Erin never hesitates when Holtz strokes her shoulders, pouting at the tension bunched beneath the skin, and offers to help her relax. Sometimes they cuddle for as long as Holtz will let Erin hold her, a healing balm against her skin. They kiss, slow, and sometimes they make love slower, an antidote to the ruckus of their day.

Tonight Holtz had presented her softness by candlelight, with wine and a finger hovering over the play button until Erin had whispered _no_ and Holtz had led her to the bathroom instead.

Erin’s eyes had widened at the mass of bubbles, a nebula of fragrant warmth to dissolve her cares away. The bubble bath had somehow remained innocent despite Holtz's breasts pressed against her back in the too-small tub, despite the intimacy of Holtz's fingers skimming over her chest and stomach and thighs. With no urgency to the caress, she'd been drifting towards sleep when Holtz half lifted her from the water, patted her dry with her fluffiest towel and told her to lie down on the bed.

And started to methodically draw the tension from Erin's muscles and tendons and soften the raw edges of her nerves.

It would surprise people, Erin thinks, how good Holtz is at this sort of thing. How focused she can be, how _unselfish_.

But Holtz is a scientist, after all, and there's nothing she enjoys more than a good project. And Erin's heart exults because _she_ is Holtz's project, a project to last a lifetime. Their relationship a masterwork that will never be completed, always to be touched upon and made better, the thing about which the rest of Holtz's life revolves, whatever comes their way.

Holtz is devoted to her, and Erin has to hope that her own love shines even a fraction as devoutly.

“Mmm… I love you, Jill.”

“Nuh-uh. You love my _hands_.”

“I do…”

Erin _does_ love Holtz’s hands. They are careful and delicate and smaller than she’d expected because Holtz is so expressive with her hands, fingers splayed wide and excitable. Wiggling, pointing, painting patterns in the air to accent her words and motions.

In much the same way as _Holtz_ is smaller than Erin had first thought, her effervescent spirit pouring out into the air and filling all the space about her and amplifying tiny Jillian into larger-than-life Holtzmann.

And Holtz's fingers are imperfect, scarred and nicked and calloused rough at the tips, with a little crook in her pinky that wasn't strapped straight. But just like the rest of Holtz they have an odd and wonderful magic. Whimsical and clever, an unpredictable brilliance so strong and sure and so very, very gentle.

Erin is melting beneath the magic, worries dissolving into fragments of disquiet beneath the worth of her concern.

She knows it’s not the point, not a necessary part of Holtz’s plan but there’s a comfortable warmth building between her legs. A low liquid heat gathering deep in her belly over long minutes. Erin isn’t complaining; they were always going to end up there.

Holtz is having a good time too, Erin can tell. Can feel the moist heat of her lover's centre near the skin of her behind, a brush of wet desire on the back of her thigh as Holtz shuffles lower and she gasps at the sensation, hips involuntarily pushing back.

Holtz chuckles, low and dirty, and grinds down briefly.

“I thought you wanted my hands on you, sweet cheeks.”

“Uhhh...”

“Keep that up and I might… lose focus.”

Holtz grinds a little harder and moans, pornstar obscene, and Erin appreciates the sound reverberating through her. She can feel just how wet and open Holtz is on her leg and her simmering desire jumps a degree because it's obvious how much simply touching her body, taking care of her, is turning Holtz on.

“Holtz, _oh_.”

Holtz chuckles again before pulling her body back, the warmth of her palms returning. She slides her hands again across the plains of Erin's flesh, refocuses on Erin’s pleasure.

“Just relax, E.”

The hands are on her lower back now, thumbs pressing deep, right in the kinks that plague her the most and Erin can’t help the moan that breaks into the close air as the last knot finally loosens.

“Oh. God. That’s… right there, Holtz. Mmm.”

She can sense Holtz's smile in the back of her head, feel it in the bend of her lips as Holtz lowers her face to kiss between her shoulder blades.

“There. That’s better. Now…”

Erin sighs as Holtz kisses her way down her spine, kisses each cheek of her behind and nudges open her legs. Breathes slow and hot against her and slides one hand under her body, over her folds, over her clit and she arches into the touch, trapping the fingers against her.

She relaxes after a moment as Holtz sprinkles paper-soft kisses like confetti all over her ass and the backs of her thighs, and lets those fingers start to stroke her. The languid pleasure soon has Erin wet and aching. The play over her clit stills after several minutes, eases back to just a light pressure against the tip as Holtz brings her other hand into play, easing two fingers into her from behind, gentle, slow.

Her legs aren’t spread wide, close enough to feel tight around her lover, feel every bump and knuckle as Holtz flexes her fingers. Not thrusting, just a slight twist and curl and a firm caress over clutching velvet. One fingertip then two find their goal, give it a tiny rub and Erin whines, whipping her head over the pillow. She’s always been sensitive _there_ and those with the skill can play her like a concerto.

Holtz has a virtuoso’s hands and an unerring touch and Erin's body sings.

Her body wants to buck and her legs want to thrash and she wants to push back into the touch and ride Holtz's hand but her muscles are still relaxed to the point of uselessness.

Instead she lies there, only her toes curling and hands fisting, breathing her moans into the pillow, twitching around Holtz's touch and flowing warm and wet over Holtz’s perfectly imperfect fingers.

And she comes, blissfully slow and lazy, and it's like summer sunshine on her skin as she drifts in a tropical sea.

 

* * *

 

“Let me take care of you.”

“I've been bad, Erin.”

 

* * *

 

Holtz also likes it on her front.

Holtz won't ever lie still long enough for Erin to favour her with a massage. It doesn’t matter anyway because Holtz doesn’t _deserve_ a massage.

They'd been out for dinner, a nice dinner with reservations and tablecloths and menus without prices and _everything_ and Erin had been so happy and delighted and contented and Holtz had _ruined_ it. She hadn’t meant to, but she’d gone too far and oh, the warning flash in Erin’s eyes should have stopped her but she had pushed.

They left the restaurant in sulking silence afterwards and suffered an awkward cab ride home. Erin’s annoyance chafed in the close quarters and Holtz had shifted, fidgeting because she hadn't meant to upset Erin, not really, but she's such a mess sometimes and now Erin is mad.

Erin maintains her silence once they are behind their apartment door, brushes past Holtz and into the bedroom. Holtz can see Erin is still ripe with anger at her antics, flushed with embarrassment and she makes to follow, to beg appeasement before Erin can shut her out.

“Erin…”

Erin turns to face her, expectantly.

It’s the dress that stifles Holtz. That body-hugging _no imagination needed_ dress, with impossibly high heels and Erin’s hair pinned up and a perfect storm in her blue, blue eyes and a curl to her red, red lips.

Erin looks sexy, stunning, always. And Holtz knows she’s not going to get to _touch_ , not tonight, not after _that_ , but she can’t help the pang of arousal.

Holtz's lips part, mouth dry and she swallows the _sorry_ that's been in her throat since the taxi.

Later. She will apologise _later_ , and mean it.

She lies down on the bed, then slowly and very deliberately rolls over onto her front and hums, _mmm_ s. Erin makes a tiny snort of disbelief.

Holtz arches her spine, rocking her hips up and back to raise her behind just a little, eyes cast back low and submissive over her shoulder. She stops short of biting her lip, knowing the hooded look will be enough.

Holtz sees her lover’s features soften, ever so slightly, realisation drawing forgiveness over her face. Then Erin's eyes harden, forged in a different kind of fire.

This is Holtz’s only endgame. Erin’s already forgiven her, but still Holtz wants Erin to make her _pay_.

Erin's hand comes to rest on the upper curve of her ass, a light pressure through her clothes. Holtz can't wait for the touch against her bare skin; she loves Erin's hands, so much more precious than her own. Erin's hands are soft, slender, skilled, perfect.  No, almost perfect; the slight hardened patch on her right middle finger from years of gripping markers the one tiny blemish, to show she is human and not some kind of angel or true to life robot.

And her fingers are so _long_. But that’s for later, Holtz reminds herself.

Right now those long, lovely fingers are strong and powerful weapons tugging at Holtz’s pants, at her underwear, forcing them down roughly to tangle at her ankles.

Erin palms her ass again and squeezes slightly, rubs her thumb over the exposed curves. Holtz shivers with anticipation and feels her skin turn to gooseflesh and she reads the question. Erin's caress is a silent _tell me you want this_ , because Erin will never not ask, never not check.

“Erin?”

“Hmm?”

“Make me sorry.”

Erin squeezes again, bends and presses a nip of a kiss to her behind, removes her hand.

Holtz hears Erin moving behind her, notes the little clink as Erin places her ring carefully on the dresser.

They made the mistake once and Holtz had not been able to sit properly for days, and Erin had been so upset that they nearly never did this again. Holtz had tried to assure Erin it wasn’t her fault, never her fault, she could never hurt Holtz and after all, Holtz _hadn’t stopped her_.

 _Liked it_ , Holtz had said as Erin frowned and fretted, _loved_ the stinging reminder.

Holtz would never demand anything of Erin but she had asked again, quietly, weeks later and Erin had melted. Though not too much because Holtz wants her _firm_. But, rings off and nothing but open palms and Erin gets to hold Holtz afterwards for as long as she likes.

Erin’s voice floats towards her now, quiet and controlled.

“What did you do, baby?”

“I-I flirted with the waitress, Erin.”

“Mmm-hmm. Was she worth it?”

“No…”

“Were you trying to make me jealous, Holtz?”

The warm tickle of Erin’s hand is against her cool skin again now, and it's a distraction. Holtz struggles to form words.

“Uh… yeah… no… fuck, I don't know.”

“Shh. Hold still, baby.”

The first hit is a surprise, always is, despite the anticipation. The force comes first, followed a half second later by the sound cracking in the lull, followed a half second after that by the sting and the snap of heat. Heat that ricochets straight to her core, instantly turning her molten.

The next hit is hardly felt, never is, her body still adjusting to the shock of the first.

It’s the third hit that Holtz loves. Coming down sharply upon the blooming imprint of the first and the second, the perfect balance of sting and sex. It’s this hit that compels the first gasp from her lips, air pushed from her.

By the time the fourth and the fifth have been laid upon her Holtz is a mess. Flesh and muscle rippling before the momentum. Sensations radiating outwards from the focus of pain to tingle in her extremities, made undeniable in her whimpers cluttering the air and her pleasure dripping onto the sheets.

And by the time Erin raises her hand for the sixth, it's clear that Erin knows it.

“Is this turning you on, Holtz? You're wet for me, aren't you?”

Six and seven come in quick succession, a reprisal served on alternate cheeks. Holtz's only response is a brace of deep, muffled moans that might have been a _fuck yes_ if her temporal lobe wasn’t already melting from her ears.

They do a ten count, normally, but by the eighth Holtz is desperate and torn, loving the burn but unable to stand the wait. Her centre is aching, empty, clenching down on nothing and she wants, _needs_ Erin to use her hands for something more. She reaches blindly behind her, motions to stay Erin's hand.

“Erin...”

Her face is muffled by the bed sheets but she knows Erin is listening for the rest of her words, the signals to stop or continue. Erin will always hear her, whether silence or smothered and pitiful whisper.

“You don’t have to be jealous.”

It's almost an apology, pushing the limits of their game.

Erin softens.

“I know.”

And hardens.

“You’re _mine_ , Jillian.”

Erin plunges two fingers deep inside her, then three, then more and it's so much, it's too much but Holtz wants it _all_.

Holtz spreads as far as she can, pants still trapped around her lower legs, and pushes back. Erin gets the hint and starts to fuck her, deep and bold. Not fast, because the intense fullness of four long, almost perfect fingers is enough. The knuckle of Erin's thumb brushes against her stretched entrance and it's that, that tiny sensation on top of all others that breaks Holtz.

And she comes, fierce and screaming, and it's like too much electricity drawn on a single source, all of her senses and synapses sparking and exploding her into stardust.

 


	3. E...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one's a little longer because I got carried away but the format is the same. It's all kinky as balls and the heavier stuff is in the second half.
> 
> Subby Holtzmann's last gleaming, if you will.

 

One of Erin's favourite things is standing in front of Holtz.

Holtz is sat in a chair, a dining chair they had dragged into the bedroom for this very purpose.

The lights are low, just the warm orange flicker of candles and the twinkle of fairy lights dappling red and blue and pink over their bodies, because as much as she wants Holtz to _see_ , she knows that _too much_ will destroy her, and they've never actually done anything like this before.

Erin's stood in front of Holtz, wearing a sheer lace bra and panty set that had cost a fortune and she had blushed when the shop assistant had hinted _fun night_ while taking her payment because damn, that lady _had no idea_.

Erin slides her hands from her sides, up over her ribs and cups her breasts through the lace, pushes them up to highlight her already accentuated cleavage. She's not huge up front, but the fancy underwear is doing a great job and Erin's never been more glad that _you get what you pay for_.

The lingerie feels nice on her body, helps her feel sexy and confident. And not a little bit smug at the obvious quiver passing through Holtz's body.

She slides onto Holtz's lap in a sudden burst of impulse, legs wide and arms linked loosely around her neck. Holtz is still dressed; mismatched layers and dapper shoes and pendant glinting, because that's part of the fun. The fabrics tickle against Erin's bare stomach, beneath her thighs, the warmth of Holtz's body palpable.

Erin bobs her head, twists her fingers in Holtz's pinned-up hair and moves in for a kiss. Flicks her tongue and swallows the low sounds of pleasure when Holtz opens up to her. She doesn't want to rush this encounter, but she's acutely aware of how close her barely-covered centre is to Holtz's crotch, how shameless her position, how easy it would be to just shift a little and grind down a little and take her pleasure frantic and brief.

She breaks their kiss before her willpower shatters.

Holtz gasps, bereft.

Erin presses her lips to Holtz's chin, her nose, her flushed cheek. Curls her hand tighter in messy blonde hair and pulls Holtz's head to one side, hard enough to tease out a moan.

“Uhh... yeah...”

Even without the encouragement, Erin knows Holtz will love this.

So she brings her mouth to her lover's shoulder, the muscle pulled tight beneath pale, delicate skin. Sinks her teeth deep, lays her claim just above the collar, where Holtz will bear the brand gladly. She bathes the wound with her tongue after, tasting copper and salt, soothes the hurt with soft little kisses and tiny murmuring secrets into Holtz's throat.

Erin hesitates when the body beneath her shudders and she pulls back ever so slightly, notes Holtz's eyes are closed.

“Open your eyes, baby. This is for you.”

“Hmm, nuh.”

Erin frowns, because the face screwed up tight and the twitching and that odd hum are a little too close to something else, something a little distressing, something distinct from sexual arousal. It's not an expression of pain but she's seen it before. Holtz binges on sensation; chases and grabs and collects, like elemental little experiences to be pushed into her veins and set her synapses to overload.

And Erin loves to feed it, to feed morsels of light and colour and sound and the boldest tastes of perception. They dance together in a riotous caper and it is glorious. They dash madly through the world, eyes wide and unblinking and Erin runs with it because it's so freeing and that freedom is _intoxicating_.

But Erin also knows when to stop, even if Holtz won't. Erin samples, but Holtz is addicted.

Accepting the bite was too much, sending Holtz spiralling too soon.

Erin touches Holtz's cheek, grounding her. Checks in with a little whisper.

“Holtz? Do you need your glasses?”

Head shake.

“Should I stop?”

Violent head shake. Erin waits another moment while Holtz unscrews her eyes to show they are shining with lust and delight and clarity – not mania, not fear – and Erin is cheered. She lets out a small relieved sigh and smiles. Holtz releases a whooshing breath, and grins, quickly leans forward.

Erin sways back out of reach of Holtz's lips and rises gracefully to her feet. Places a hand on Holtz's head and pushes back, tipping clear blue into her eye line.

“Watch.”

Holtz nods, and her face is enraptured.

Erin steps back one pace, two paces, three; until the backs of her legs are not quite flush with the bed, gives herself the space for her performance.

She moves her hips to start, not quite dancing; just swaying to a rhythm in her head, an erotic tattoo in her chest, and Holtz watches.

She stipples fingers across her skin, first flat strokes on her stomach and then drawing slowly up her ribcage to detail circles over her breasts, and Holtz watches.

She dips forward, flicks her hair back and bites her lower lip gently, and Erin thinks it's a look that must be ridiculous on a woman her age, a move Erin the professor should never have been able to pull off, but Holtz watches anyway.

She twists her fingers and unhooks the front clasp of her bra, slides it slowly off her shoulders. The air is warm, hot, and her nipples already hardened with arousal but the change in atmosphere causes her skin to pucker, slightly. It's a tiny detail, lost in the low light, but Erin watches how Holtz watches.

Her bra is in her hand and in a manoeuvre that belongs to Erin from twenty years ago, from a drunken college night, Erin twirls the garment around her index finger and launches it across the room to land somewhere behind and to the side of Holtz, lost in a dim corner.

Holtz tracks the movement like a bird of prey tethered to a post, powerless and starving. Her eyes drift back and lock onto Erin's chest and she licks her lips, smiles slowly and widely, teeth glinting feral.

In not one of her twenty-plus years of sexual experience did Erin ever expect a lover to watch her like that.

Erin feels the arousal that sits low in her belly surge at the sight, because the look is so _hungry_. She imagines that wet little tongue lapping at her skin, tasting the sweat of anticipation, that pretty mouth latched around her breasts. Imagines Holtz sucking on the flesh, drawing her teeth along the curve and biting down. Not sharp, but hard enough and long enough to bruise.

Erin palms her own chest, roughly, in lieu of Holtz's touch. Starts to move once more to the cadence of her thrumming heart, to the pulse at her centre. Fingertips plucking over the edges of her panties, drumming her solo in the hollows of her hips.

Holtz is certainly loving the show; nearly panting, chest heaving. Lips still parted but smile gone slack, a pink sliver darting out to wet them, over and over.

She actually whines when Erin bends, whimpers when Erin slips her panties down and off.

They’re damp, of course. Erin smirks and bunches them in one hand and tosses them at her crumbling lover. Holtz barely has time to register surprise before they hit her in the face and tumble to her lap. Holtz's head drops down and she stares dumbly at the scrap of lace. Exhales shaky, lips moving, whispering something under her breath that might have been _oh god_ or _fuck you_ before rolling her face back up and Erin almost withers before the power of the lust in that wide, wild gaze.

She sits on the edge of the bed and she pushes back, wants to see just how much Holtz can take.

“Are you still watching, Holtz?”

Holtz's eyes are a two-way mirror, their arousal shared and reflected and suffused by candlelight and colour and she nods.

“Y-yes. Fuck. You’re _gorgeous_ , Erin.”

Erin believes her.

Erin feels like a goddess, with the power to _crush_.

She spreads her legs, wide, with no shame or hesitance. Holtz survives for nearly a full minute, staring ahead half dazed and half defiant, before she succumbs and her sight line drops.

The sound Holtz lets out is absolutely filthy.

Erin can only imagine her lover's view. Her arousal is obvious; she knows she's swollen, wet on her inner thighs and soaking all over. Her clit is screaming at her, screaming for attention and she is so, so ready for this final act.

She can see Holtz's hands gripping the arms of the chair, so tight her knuckles are bony white, arms trembling with the muscle burn. Thighs pressed together, hips twisting and shifting in place. It's not an attempt to achieve friction or a pitiful satisfaction, Erin knows; it's simply that Holtz _can't not_ react to her environment, to this.

She’s never seen Holtz try so hard to remain still; Erin's request to sit, to watch, to not touch, accepted like a command.

It's a particular cruelty, on them both. Erin almost wants Holtz to snap, to break, to launch herself with the animal power behind her ferocious expression and devour her. But that wouldn’t be nearly so memorable and it wasn't what was promised.

Erin shifts, leaning back onto one hand propping her up. Presses the other to her chest below her throat, drags it down between her breasts, lingering.

“Tell me, Holtz. Tell me what you want to see.”

Holtz swallows. Doesn’t raise her eyes.

“Um. Uh… I want. I want… fuck.”

Erin takes pity. Licks a finger and presses it to a nipple, circling and pinching.

“Is this okay, baby?”

Holtz sighs. Doesn't raise her eyes.

“Yeah.”

It’s barely more than a whisper, more like a grunt. Erin knows her difficulty. The sensations, all the sights and the sounds and _oh, fuck_ the smells are stacking dangerously in the space between them.

She fondles her breasts for a while, switching between them, soft at first then rougher. Tugging and twisting and tasting the call of arousal on a direct line to her clit. Even though it's nowhere near enough, she loses herself for a little while. Her eyes slip shut and she murmurs _yes_ and _mmm_ below her breath.

“Erin.”

The growl surprises her and she flicks her eyes open.

“Touch yourself.”

It’s almost an order, despite the scratchy roughness in Holtz's voice, despite the asymmetry of their positions, and Erin’s hand drops between her legs as though led by compulsion. She brushes fingers through the short curls, over her ready flesh, into the wet. Strokes lightly for a few minutes, laying tiny clockwise rubs over her peeking clit. Stops herself from bucking desperately into her own hand through sheer force of will.

Erin’s building quickly, far too quickly for the show she still wants to give. She breaks away from her clit every now and then to caress her swollen folds instead and – when even that gets to be too much – to massage the tops of her thighs.

She makes sure to moan throughout the display, loud and wanton. It’s not fake or forced but it is _exaggerated_ because Erin knows that Holtz loves the noises, the way they communicate Erin’s state of arousal in basic, explicitly uncertain terms. The way they telegraph Erin’s intent openly, her desire raw and true.

Erin thinks Holtz has a point, oddly enjoying the way the sounds curl into her own ear and rocket to her core.

“Mmm… oh… oh…”

She can feel more wetness dripping from her, dampness soaking into the bed sheet below her.

Holtz licks her lips.

Erin clenches at the sight and feels another rush of warmth burst from her. Once, she’d have been embarrassed at such a reaction. But now, with Holtz staring at her, dumb with lust, awe, reverence, worship, she’s never felt so sexually _free_.

She reaches lower and dips two fingers inside herself, not all the way, just enough to gather some of the leaking arousal. She half raises the glistening digits to her mouth; for Holtz the sight of Erin tasting herself will be a wicked, cruel torture.

Then she stops, with mouth parted and tongue just slightly out in readiness. She has an even better idea, one that will likely dismantle Holtz for good. Erin leans her body forward and stretches her hand out in front of her.

“Holtz.”

Holtz snaps her upper body towards her, still clinging to the chair with both hands like a lifeline and takes Erin’s fingers into her mouth. Sucking desperately and rolling her tongue all over the digits, gorging on Erin’s taste like ambrosia. Until Erin pulls her fingers free with a pop and Holtz hums at the loss, slumps dazed and shaky down into the chair.

Erin settles back onto the bed, strokes her clit a little more with her damp fingers, making sure she has Holtz's attention for the climax of this performance.

“Look at me.”

And Holtz does, and Erin drives two fingers deep inside herself. She works herself with singular purpose, thrusting fast and hard, hooking her fingertips _just so_. It doesn’t take long. Her hands are long and slender and she knows exactly where to press and, _oh_ …

Wait.

“Uhh… fuck… Erin...”

Holtz’s noises are unmistakable and her face is bright red. She's shaking, sweating, twisting in place.

Erin slows, just to check, to savour the sight. Because even though she’s teetering on the edge herself, a spinning top about to fall and tumble into the starlight forever, seeing Holtz coming apart – fully clothed and without laying a hand on herself – could well be the single most erotic thing Erin has ever experienced.

“Holtz, damn… Jill… did you… did you come?”

Only a whimper escapes her wrecked lover, a tiny noise of affirmation.

“Oh. Oh, baby. _Oh, fuck!_ ”

And Erin comes, and it's with everything that she is, and it's _for her_.

 

* * *

 

“Tell me if it's too much.”

“I trust you, Erin.

 

* * *

 

Holtz likes to kneel before Erin.

She’s naked, the carpet a rough tickle beneath her knees. She’s blind, one of Erin’s scarves wrapped around her face, silk folded and tightened to block out all light. She’s overwhelmed, enjoying the extra load on her senses from sound and smell and taste and touch.

She enjoys Erin's quiet words, words like _beautiful_ and _sexy_ and _stay_ and _good girl_ , Erin’s hums and murmurs of pleasure, appreciation.

She enjoys the bouquet of shampoo and perfume and lotion and the tang of arousal in the air as Erin's hips sway past her, inches away and she can't _see_ but she can sense the change in air density and catch the scent as it lingers.

She enjoys the scratch of short, sharp claws along her shoulders, one fingernail scraping up her neck and one soft fingertip round the shell of her ear and it's like sandpaper and sunshine.

She enjoys the blast of moist heat across her skin as Erin presses lips to her forehead, and Holtz leans into that touch the most. Her hands twitch from her sides, closing on nothing, pawing at a warmth always slightly out of reach.

One hand is caught, then, held in a vice of gentleness.

“Up, up.”

Erin forces – no, _encourages_ – Holtz to stand. Leads her until her legs bump the edge of something, perhaps the bed.

Erin shoves her lightly and her toes curl in the carpet but it can’t steady her and she falls. It’s a trust fall from an unimaginable orbit, unable to conceive the height, her stomach hollowing under the gravity. The fall lasts a thousand years and then soft pillows and cool sheets capture her but Erin’s not there in this new world, _not there_ and Holtz suddenly feels so alone.

No.

Her hand twitches to her face, feels the silk beneath her fingers, satiny, drawn tight over her eyes. The texture holds her, just enough.

She wants this. She wants this.

Breathes. Breathes. Hums. Lowers her hand slowly.

“Holtz?”

With that quiet murmur Holtz realises Erin has been there all along, watching. Waiting for her to choose.

Fingers trace up her outer thigh, just a hint and she flinches. The palm of Erin’s hand presses flat against her leg, then; firm, grounding, safe.

“Holtz?”

“I’m okay. Erin. Erin. Erin, I want you.”

“You’ve got me, baby. _Always_.”

With that, Erin hoarse and emotional and words stronger than a whisper but not quite a song, Holtz is home. She melts into their bed, bits of her diffusing outwards into the environment.

The tug of soft fabric around her ankle pulls her further apart. It’s one of her neckties, she knows. She knows, because she has shown Erin how to knot it so it won’t hurt but it won’t _give_ and she can feel every facet of the restraint above the bones of her ankle, registers every firm, precise motion of Erin’s hands.

Her other foot gets a similar treatment. Another tie, another meticulous and studious knot and Holtz is open before Erin.

Erin.

A careful hand slides up to her ribcage, over hip and stomach and arching breast, to press over her hammering heart.

“I’m here, Jill.”

Yes. She is.

The bed dips and warmth settles over her, a pleasing weight on her hips and two soft palms on her chest, moving to cup her, thumbs rough on her nipples. A shift, a tickle of hair, then teeth and lips worry at one breast until it is sore and straining. She knows her nipple is red, pinched and peaking, and a bruise will bloom on the curve.

The warmth shifts upwards after a time; Erin gentles one hand from its place beside her head and lifts it upwards, pressing little kisses to the inside of her arm as she does so. Cool leather on her wrist and a suggestion of metal, then a loud click and Holtz can’t help her entire body rippling.

Erin's harsher with her other arm, because Holtz resists, because she pulls free from Erin's grasp, because they've never got this far before.

Erin waits, once it is done, and Holtz gives only silence.

Holtz needs only to give her _stop_ and Erin will give Holtz her hands back and give Holtz her legs back and give Holtz her eyes back.

But Holtz wants Erin to keep all of those things for herself, and after a moment Erin must be satisfied because the warmth relaxes then. Drapes over her, slow moist breath mingling with Holtz's own hot pants, a bend of a cruel smile pressed to her dry, parted lips.

“Are you here, Jill?”

She nods. Yes. Jill is.

Licks her lips.

“Yes.”

Holtz may not have eyes but she has her body to perceive. Lips and teeth and tongue and palms and fingertips and nails descend upon every inch of her and it is as air rushing into a vaccuum. She twists under Erin, her nerve endings waiting, anticipating each touch. Yearning for every tiny flitter of contact, then screaming when it is lost.

Erin checks in with her silently, every now and then, a soft kiss and a questioning tongue. Then returns unflinchingly to her masterpiece of physicality, spurred by Holtz's little thrilled shudders and loud moans of pleasure.

She wants this and Erin has to know.

Erin _must_ know, because the next touch is the warmth against the inside of her thighs and the next touch after that is a wet tongue pressed against her centre. One wide, slow lick from entrance to clit.

Holtz hears a scream in the air, a sonic boom against her eardrums. Agonised.

It’s her.

The position isn’t the best, and Holtz knows she’s making it harder on her lover by her frantically rocking and shifting hips, but she _can’t help it_. Because Erin’s eating her like she's found the elixir of life between her legs. And Holtz's blindness and her restrained body, they allow all of the parts of her brain normally wasted on her eyes and her muscles to train their focus elsewhere. Locus on her clit and the sensitive areas just inside her entrance and the rasp of Erin's tongue and the suck of Erin's lips and the nip of Erin's teeth.

Holtz is close, so close to her edge. And then Erin stops. Pulls away. Huffs a dirty chuckle across her skin and Holtz nearly wails.

“Erin… _please_.”

She’s never really begged before. Doesn’t know what to expect.

“Not yet, baby.”

The warmth extends to cover her again, long body crawling up hard and heavy over her, and then Holtz knows why Erin stopped.

Erin’s wet, sliding onto the long muscle of Holtz’s thigh. Breathing hot puffs of air over her neck, her ear as she works herself steadily. Tiny little _oh_ s escaping and captured by Holtz.

Holtz lies there, hopelessly aroused and swimming in sensation, and she is helpless when Erin hooks a hand under her thigh. Erin is strong and shifts them both with a heave, brings her own thigh into alignment with Holtz's wet centre.

Holtz cries out again, feels herself slick and eager on Erin’s skin. There's just enough play in the restraints for Holtz to rub herself against Erin’s leg, firm and with purpose.

They rock together, burning with the friction, smothered in the closeness.

She’s nearly there, again, and then the warmth is gone from her, _again_ , and Holtz cries out.

“No!”

The air is empty around her and she's wet and open to it, with desire pooling between her legs and cooling on her thigh. She shivers. She lurches upwards as far as her bonds will let her, thrusts her hips desperately for a hint of contact, whips her head and opens her eyes wide, wide beneath the blindfold, as though to burn through and catch a glimpse.

Then, after eternity has come and gone and taken all that she is and left her small and alone, there are suddenly quick fingers on her calf, her ankle, stripping the silk tie from her.

For a moment Holtz thinks Erin has taken her _no_ as _stop_ and she whines because _no_ , that's not it, she just needs Erin to _touch her_.

Erin's floating voice cuts and reassures, confuses, strained and hasty.

“Ssshh, baby. I'm here. I just, uh, I just want to...”

And then the warmth pushes back down on her, pushes her free leg up and to the side, pushes hot air across her chest and neck, pushes lips and tongue onto hers, pushes them together _completely_.

The first touch of Erin's centre against hers is like a hundred little fireworks in her crotch and Holtz almost, almost explodes right then. Erin has to feel it too, she’s nothing but a mess of trembling flesh against her.

And they have tried this before, and they had too many knees and elbows and their bodies weren't the right shape.

But now, impossibly, they fit. With Holtz's legs and hands and eyes and her will taken from her, they fit. With Erin pushing them together again and again into a perfect idol and shaking and mewling and _fuck_ , pulsing hot and wet all over her, inside her – they fit.

And she comes, and it’s black black blackness and then white all over behind the mask, and it’s heat and it’s liquid and it’s a scream and it’s _forever_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well fuck-a-doodle-doo, that happened.
> 
> Edit: I got a [tumblr](https://cosmotronic87.tumblr.com/) thing now if anyone wants to see where this filth all comes from.


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